


Again

by Navik8_88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navik8_88/pseuds/Navik8_88
Summary: John Watson is dealing with the aftermath of the past yearwhile helping the consulting detective recover from his overdose.
Relationships: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 17
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New author here with my first attempt at fanfiction writing. I hope whomever reads this enjoys it! It is a WIP. Constructive criticism is always welcome :) Please note it has not been reviewed nor britpicked by anyone so please forgive any Americanisms that slip through.
> 
> The story is being written as I go, but the key components are that John and Sherlock end up together and that it’s my version of what I wish would have been the ending of season 4 or what I wish season 5 could be like.

The late January dawn is just beginning to break as John Watson walks through drizzly London streets, headed to 221B Baker street. He just dropped Rosie off at daycare so he can spend the day taking care of Sherlock while he recovers from his recent overdose. Even through the cold drizzle, he feels grateful for the walk. It gives him exercise and time to clear his head. After everything that has happened in the last year, from Mary, Sherlock being back, the wedding, Rosie's Birth, Mary's death, and a moment that John regrets most in his life that can only be referred to as "the morgue”, he barely has had any time to process it all. Images of the past year flicker through John's mind like film clips, lending a surreal element to them, as if they never actually happened. But, of course they did. His mind unhelpfully stops at the moment in the morgue. The words practically flash in neon in his brain as he works to resist the twisting of his stomach at the thought of what he did. All the pent up frustration, trauma, rage, fear, grief, sadness, and everything else that came spilling out, nearly costing the life of his best friend in that cold and sterile room. He shivers at the thought, feeling the bile in his belly rise. He brings his scarf up higher as he burrows into his coat for more warmth, comfort, and protection from the rain.

John takes his time, stopping for a coffee and something to eat at the first Pret he finds. His dawdling serves as both enjoying his break from Rosie (as much as he loves her, and he does more than he can ever express, every parent needs a break now and then), and an opportunity to process the anxiousness that permeates his being. He grabs his order from the counter and finds a quiet table in the corner. As he welcomes the comforting warmth and caffeination of sustenance, his mind wonders what today may be like with Sherlock. Truth be told part of him is dreading it while the other part of him was aching to get his friend back on his feet. Regain some sense of normalcy, whatever that is at this point. He doesn’t want to see his friend weak. It’s hard to see someone you care about suffering, but it also serves as a painful reminder of what happened. Of what he did. How can he even begin to be there for his friend, as much as he wants to, given he’s only just begun thinking through everything that has happened? While trying to be a parent? While seeing what his actions did to him? To add to it, he realizes that lately that when he looks toward his future, all he can see is Sherlock and Rosie. He doesn’t feel the pang of wanting another wife in his life someday, even if the main reason would be to have a mother figure for Rosie. Maybe he is overthinking. Maybe the year’s events are still too new and raw. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s all of the above. _Maybe it’s Maybelline _his brain unhelpfully supplies. Still, he chuckles inwardly at the all too dad-like joke as he stands, gathering his things from the table and prepares to head back out into the cold.__


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s walk finally brings him to 221B.

John shakes the meandering thoughts from his head as he rounds the corner to Baker street. He takes a few deep breaths like Ella taught him to steel his nerves, standing with his typical military carriage when he finds himself at 221 Baker street’s doorstep. He has no idea what state Sherlock will be in. He believes Sherlock when he says he’s sober and will never touch drugs again, but he also can’t allow himself to fully trust it. They’ve been through too much.  
Mrs. Hudson has been keeping an eye on Sherlock in the early mornings, bringing him breakfasts of toast and tea. Sherlock knows part of this is caring and part of this is so she can update John on how the detective is doing. He can usually hear their brief conversations before John heads up the stairs. This morning when John arrives, he is greeted as usual by Mrs. H. She reports that Sherlock was sleeping while she dropped breakfast off. She didn’t want to wake him. He’s not surprised. When Sherlock crashes, he goes out cold, his body finally giving into the need to heal and rest. He thanks her and moves up the stairs. He enters the apartment, filled with grey early morning light. The smell of books, cedar, tobacco, and whatever experiment Sherlock has been working on when he’s had the strength fill his nose. The sense memories still almost stop him cold after all this time, bringing him back to visions of life with Sherlock before the fall. He sees the untouched breakfast tray on the kitchen table and goes to check in on Sherlock. As he enters Sherlock’s room quietly, all is as it was: some dust among a few piles of books lying around, glasses that Sherlock won’t admit to needing along with pain medication and a glass of water on his nightstand. His dressing gown is pooled into a swirl of navy silk on the floor next to the bed. Sherlock prefers to sleep nude, but thankfully with people checking in on him more frequently since his overdose he has taken to wearing at least pajama bottoms. Finally John’s eyes move to the bed. He sees a mess of curls on a pillow, the only thing indicating a living soul exists under the pile of posh bedding. He quietly goes over to the other side of the bed where Sherlock’s face is revealed. Over the few weeks of healing, the bruising and scars have started to fade and Sherlock’s normal pale pallor is returning. John notes that the stubble Sherlock had been sporting has been shaved off. His sleepy breaths provide a sense of reassurance that John hadn’t realized he needed, finding himself taking a deep breath of relief. For the first time in awhile, the face looks healthy and serene, giving an air of someone younger than when the git is awake. The urge to touch the detective’s face begins to overwhelm John.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock blinks awake, the late morning light of winter pouring through the sides of his closed curtains. It must be half ten, Sherlock guessed. He hadn’t meant to sleep so late. Thankfully the knotted, twisting dreams he has had of late did not effect him as they have the past few weeks when he managed to fall prey to his body’s needs. In fact, he doesn’t recall any dreams at all from the night. Just a moment of envisioning a warm beam of light that made him feel peaceful, safe, and protected. It felt so real, he recalls, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and taking a deep breath. Sherlock heard the whistle of the kettle as he regained more consciousness, remembering that John was going to be here today.  
He slowly sits up and maneuvers his legs over to the side of the bed, stretching as he prepares to stand and put on his slippers. He grabs his dressing gown and wraps it around himself to help against the chilly air. He has to admit that, while he still feels sore and not 100%, he feels more like himself this morning than he has in a long time. Perhaps years. Maybe he actually needed rest more than he realized. He goes to the restroom and takes care of his morning routine, gathering his full faculties as he prepares to spend the day with John.  
He steps out into the kitchen and the sight of John there, facing away towards the mugs of tea he was making, stops him in his tracks. His mind takes him back to before the fall, before everything seemed to fall apart. He is a bit breathless at the sight. The only telling difference from the past is the silver coming through the blond hair of the compact doctor. This isn’t unusual to see John there, he had been coming by on and off for the past while, trading off with others to keep an eye on him as he healed and to make sure he stays sober. However, the feeling of John being there, just the two of them, overwhelms him this morning. John must register Sherlock’s presence because he gently turns and faces Sherlock, with a small expectant smile. 

“Good morning sleepyhead. Tea?” he asks, mugs in hand. He moves one mug towards Sherlock, in offering. Sherlock takes it gratefully, 

“Morning. Yes, thank you.” He sips, enjoying the liquid even though it is still piping hot. 

“How are you feeling?” John asks, shifting into doctor mode. 

“Still sore but better, thanks. I feel more like myself than I have in weeks. What time is it? I didn’t want to sleep this late.”

“10:30. Yeah I know, but you apparently needed it. I am glad you’re doing better. I think some stretching and moving may help, or maybe a warm bath? Did you want to get out of here today? Do something?”

Sherlock gave a shrug and a sigh, not sure what he felt up to. It didn’t matter as long as he was with John. “Lestrade send anything?” 

“Not that I am aware of, but I am sure he’d send it to you first if he did.”

“True. I should grab my phone and check.” 

Without a word, they both head towards the living room to their respective chairs, Sherlock picking up his phone from the kitchen table on the way. John was glad to see his chair was moved back into what felt like its rightful place months ago. For a moment, all felt right in the world as they sat opposite each other in front of the fire John prepared, sipping their tea. Sherlock perused through his phone idly, trying to think of a way to keep this moment in suspension forever. John wished he could also suspend this moment in time with Sherlock. Of course neither said a word.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s moments like the slow morning of them just surrounding each other that the past year can easily be forgotten. Then Sherlock twinges upon standing up, appearing a bit lightheaded, and reality comes crashing down around them, landing them right in the present. 

“You ok?”

“Yes”, the detective notes as he breathes, eyes closed, through the dizziness. John realizes that neither of them have eaten since Sherlock woke up and he is almost certain the detective has gone even longer without.

He stands and walks toward him. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“Yesterday at lunch.” John grabs Sherlock by the arm to help steady him and begins palpating his wrist and neck to check his pulse. 

“Ok, what did you eat?” Satisfied that Sherlock seems ok, he lets his arms drop.

“Toast with honey. Some gingernuts.” He blinks his eyes open, standing up straighter as the dizziness subsides.

John heaves a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sherlock, just a few weeks ago your body was shutting down. You overdosed. You’re not 25 anymore. While you’re doing much better, you need to take better care of your health. Just...please.” his speech grinding to a halt, not wanting to say more. 

As John returns to his military bearing, his eyes meet Sherlock’s, preparing to put back whatever he meant to say behind the wall he has built around himself and his feelings. But there is a weariness Sherlock can see behind his eyes. If only he could just break through to him...

John sighs, blinking his eyes as they look away, and closing his fist a few times. Sherlock is surprised to see a shine forming in the doctor’s eyes. 

“John”, spoken so softly, gently. 

John still doesn’t look at him, rather choosing to look into the glowing embers of the fire, as he makes a small snuffling noise. 

“John”, spoken softer yet, barely a whisper.

For the first time, it’s as if he can see John’s walls finally begin to dissolve slowly in front of him as his resolve begins to fade, tears starting to wash away the fortress of solitude. 

“I can’t lose you too. I have already lost too much. I have already lost you before. Please, I… I….just can’t do it.” 

John goes back to his chair and sits, raising a hand up to conceal his closed eyes. Sherlock goes and crouches in front of his chair, grateful his body is allowing him to do so without complaint. For a moment, it's just the noise of their breaths and the crackle of the fire in the room. Sherlock feels uncertain as to what to do, but he knows he should stay. He finds he couldn’t leave if he tried. John needs him. He realizes maybe he needs to be the brave one this time. With a deep breath he musters the courage to say with quiet certainty the words he should have said a long time ago: 

“John, I don’t want to be lost.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter! A sweet little epilogue to follow.

John doesn’t know what hit him. Seeing Sherlock even remotely vulnerable this morning just knocked the wind out of him. It’s as if his emotions were ready and waiting for a hair trigger to be released. Seeing Sherlock in discomfort brought forth everything that has happened, all that he has carried, since the consulting detective fell to his (ultimately fake) death before his very eyes. Possibly things long before that, things buried so deep they were almost forgotten. It is not unlike what happened in the morgue, but this time intense anger is replaced with sadness, fear, and grief. It’s clear now, more than ever, what this man means to him and it’s terrifying. 

He’s so lost in his own head he almost doesn’t register hearing or seeing Sherlock at first, his voice floating in the ether of his tears and breaths. Once it reaches his ears and his brain recognizes the words, it’s enough to get John back online. 

He finally opens his eyes and looks at Sherlock, really looks. A pair of pale, unusual eyes look back at him. Sherlock is a bit unsteady, his fingertips touching the floor while he crouches, trying to keep his balance while unsure if grasping anywhere further into John’s space is welcome. 

John takes a deep breath, and gestures to the couch as he stands up, realizing Sherlock still needs something to eat and the position he is in isn’t comfortable. He holds out his hand to help him up, which Sherlock takes as he eases his way to standing. The caretaker instinct wants him to head toward the kitchen to get some food and tea, but he thinks better of it, knowing he doesn’t want to leave the consulting detective in suspense after what he said. 

They sit down, turned toward each other, waiting. Before John says anything though, Sherlock speaks, as if something just occurred to him.

“Wait, did you come into my room while I was sleeping?”

“Yes” John affirms, more than a bit bewildered at where the random question came from. “I was just checking to see you were okay. Why do you ask?” His brow is raised in emphasis of the question. 

“I don’t recall any dreams really, just had this vision of a beam of light. It sounds strange and silly but I realize that may have been when you were in the room. I felt like everything was ok.” 

“After all we have been through, I don’t consider anything particularly strange or silly anymore. After all, you did call me your conductor of light, remember?” 

Sherlock smiles at that, remembering how John lit up, pun unintended, at the remark, though he tried to hide it. 

John smiles too and shakes his head, bringing himself back to the purpose of the conversation at hand. “Look Sherlock, I meant what I said. I don’t want to lose you. I know I have made plenty of mistakes, but if you’ll let me, I would like to start over.” His hand twitches as if he was going to reach out, but resisted, thinking it may be unwelcome. Sherlock reaches out, taking both of John’s hands in his. 

“Nothing would make me happier John. And for the record, I have made plenty of mistakes too. Yes, let’s start over. I need to know however, what you want that to look like.”

“In my mind, it starts with me and Rosie moving in here, if you are comfortable with that. Or maybe we build up to that.”

“I would love nothing more than to have you and little Watson live here.”

“You’re sure you are ok with a toddler here? It’s a big change.”

“John, she’s part of you. She’s an important part of your life, and therefore important to me.” 

John can’t help the teary snuffle that follows. “Ok.”

“But, what about dating John?”

“What about it?”

“Surely you want a mother for Watson?”

“No.” he says emphatically, looking right into Sherlock’s eyes. “There is no one else nor any plans of anyone else. I see what you are saying, but she has plenty of mother figures around and I just don’t want to be with someone just for that reason. If that were to change, we’ll talk about it. The truth is I have never felt as right with anyone, as I do with you.” John moves his hands to cup Sherlock's face. “This place is home, you’re my home.” 

The detective looks wistful, his eyes gaining a shine as he looks into navy eyes.

“You’re home to me too, John. ” 


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little epilogue of sorts to wrap things up.

With the words finally being said, John feels a lightness he hadn’t felt in years. He recognizes that while this is a giant leap forward for him and for Sherlock, finally beginning to deal with the past and what they are to each other, it is just the start. John still has to dig through the events of the past year. He still has to ask Sherlock for forgiveness and finally forgive himself for what happened in that hospital basement. Sherlock has to do his own work of taking better care of himself and letting John in. There will be arrangements for moving, discussions about sleeping arrangements, getting Rosie settled into the flat, and the like. But for now, he is content just to bring Sherlock into his arms and lean the riot of curls on his shoulder as they both allow themselves to finally just be. He begins to run his fingers through the detective’s hair, soothing the final stress and strain from both of their bodies. Once things calm, Sherlock turns to angle his head, facing into the eyes of the ex army doctor. 

“John?” he says quietly, as if he is about to say another lovely, profound thing.

“Yes, love?” The detective’s cheeks redden a beautiful shade of crimson at the endearment and the blogger challenges himself to recreate that reaction as much as possible from his best friend, well now more-than best friend. Exact status to be determined. 

“I’m hungry.” 

They both break into grins and giggles, allowing the child-like plea to drain last vestiges of tension from the room. 

John gently moves Sherlock off of him and stands, holding out his hand. 

“Let’s see what we can find then, yeah?”

The smile and nod Sherlock provides as he takes the offered hand is all the encouragement John needs to know somehow everything here on out will be okay. 

In the end, it’s always just the two of them, with little Watson in tow, against the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who have gave kudos, kind comments, or even just given the chance to read my little whim of a story, thank you. I am not sure if I will ever pluck up the courage to write a fanfic again, but never say never. I do have thoughts about adding more but we will see.


End file.
